Incarnatum
by NineShadows
Summary: They forgot that its greatest weapon was deceit. Its memory is long; its patience is longer. While they catch their breaths, and form bonds, and grow to love, and build their cities, and dream their dreams, it waits for a chance to try again.


Incarnatum

A Final Fantasy VII Fanfiction

PROLOGUE: Quiescence

_ Fear not my open eyes, for in Death I bless you _

_-_-Szomorú vasárnap

* * *

_Circa [ μ ] - εγλ 1984_

He was never one given to displays of emotion. They were useless for someone like him, who preferred the cool unequivocal facts of science to the irrationality of a mind enslaved to cascades of neurotransmitters and hormones. Nevertheless, he was helpless to stop the stinging in his eyes; the flow of tears running down his cheeks; or the unfamiliar ache, like a squeezing fist around his heart that currently assailed him.

For Hojo, grief was an alien concept. He'd learned to be self-sufficient and cool-headed from a young age. Sentimentality had been something of a hindrance to his survival in the harsh world he came up in. Yet here he found himself, shamelessly weeping, divested of his prized clinical detachment as he carried out this most important of tasks.

She was surprisingly heavy as he struggled to lift her dead weight, pulling up on the harness that would keep her body from floating up in the tank once it was filled with mako. He was grateful, however that she remained pliable and that rigor had not set into her muscles, even so long after she breathed her last. It made it easier to bend her arms back and secure them into the rigid manacles attached to the support column that also served to insulate most of the tank's wiring. He would have hated to have to break her arms to do it. He suppressed a shudder and choked back a dry-heave at the feel of boggy flesh beneath the thin and delicate grey skin of her arms.

Leaving her hands unsecured was not an option, both for her own safety and his own. He'd learned his lesson with the Turk, who'd managed to shred through the pod's valves upon waking in a rage, forcing him to shut down the lab for days to contain the mako spill that it caused. The cuffs clicked into place, and he was able to shift himself to put his hands under her arms and lift her just a bit higher, in order to slot the lock mechanism of the harness into the support column. Once that was done, he stepped back, breathing with considerable effort. The faint, sweet and greasy scent of decay was all over him now, and he swallowed the thick build-up of saliva that threatened to overwhelm his mouth and gagged him in response to the cadaverine stench. The lab coat and his clothes would have to be burned.

Her feet dangled free, just an inch or so from the bottom of the tank. He could see hundreds of little scratches and scuffs on the mottled skin of her legs. He imagined the falls she had taken, or the branches she'd passed by which scratched her on her way to gods knew where. Oh, beautiful creature, what need had there been to mutilate herself in such a way?

Carefully, he cradled her face between both his hands and turned her head up so he could look at her one more time. That fist around his heart tightened again, a choked sob escaping through his clenched teeth. The image of her clouded eyes blurred as his own eyes filled with tears again. He blinked, letting those bothersome tears fall, following the trail of wetness already tracked over his face.

Taking a calming breath, he let out a stuttering sigh before continuing with his labor. Gently, mindful of the delicate tissue of her exposed brain, he pressed her head back into a rounded recess at the top of the support column. Holding her head in place with one hand under her chin, he used his free hand to pull down a clunky metal headpiece that hung from various cables and hoses over the center of the tank. He maneuvered the headpiece around the front, making sure to align the numerous electrode probes to several blue markings he'd made earlier along the cut edge of her forehead. Slowly, taking pains to be as precise as possible, he pushed the headpiece so the probes sank into the gelatinous flesh of her frontal lobes.

Once he was sure the probes were seated securely into the brain, he let go of her chin and pressed on the metal sides of the helm until he heard two gentle clicks and then proceeded to tighten four knobs at the sides of the headpiece. He then took two short cables from the top of the support column and connected them to the back of the headpiece. This powered up some lights on the panel just outside the tank's opening.

Hojo smiled sadly as he inspected the set-up once more, to ensure all connections were sound. He frowned, spotting a bloody thumbprint over the brass label at the front of the headpiece. That wouldn't do at all.

He pulled a handkerchief from one of the inside pockets of his lab-coat and wiped away at the offending stain until he could see the reflection of his own dark eyes in the sample identification tag. Embossed onto the surface, three rows of bold lettering gave the name and important dates for this particular specimen.

JENOVA

|µ| —Era 19591010 Discovered

|µ| —Era 19670702 Sealed

Hojo idly pondered if it was worth the effort to change the ID placard, even if only to update the sealing date.

"No, I guess it doesn't matter," he muttered, tucking the handkerchief back into his lab coat pocket.

"The sooner we get you stabilized, the sooner you can do what you're meant to do, my dear."

All out of excuses to remain, he allowed himself one last indulgent impulse. His fingers ran gently through the blanched strands of hair that hung in front of her face. The stark white locks felt oddly warm as they slid through his fingers. It was most likely a result of the helm producing heat upon powering up, but he let himself hold to the fantasy that it was her own warmth he felt.

His feet felt heavy and clumsy as he stepped back and out of the stasis tank. Something like fear and guilt whispered at the back of his mind to stop what he was about to do. But then there was that _other_ voice in his ears, the one that sounded so familiar and dear. Just barely a whisper, like the one which had prompted him to go in search of her to bring her back to him.

_I need you to do this. I need your help._

The guilt and fear faded in an instant, and he fought only the mechanical resistance of the lever as he wrapped his fingers around it and pulled down on it with resolve. The door slid closed with a prolonged hiss as the seals engaged.

The lights on the panel to the right of the tank's door changed color. Hojo flipped a few switches, then entered an authorization code on a keypad at the bottom of the display. Immediately, there was a gurgling sound inside the tank, five supply valves at the bottom had opened and began pumping refined mako serum into the tank. The level rose quickly, and within seconds the fluid reached to hip level of the "specimen."

At that instant, Hojo felt an acute discomfort in his ears. It was like hearing powerfully amplified feedback from a microphone. It was just a few seconds of a sharp, metallic screech that pierced his tympanic membrane and left him in pain. He collapsed forward, his forehead hitting the curved surface of the stasis tank. His hands splayed over the warm glass as he gasped for air, trying to regain his senses in the wake of the strange attack. He opened his eyes and looked inside at the now fully submerged body.

Whitened strands of hair floated lazily in the thick mako serum. The greenish tint of the fluid and the cool white light from the top of the tank make her mottled grey skin look blue. She was covered in sores and lesions, where paper-thin flakes of flesh— still tethered to her body — lifted away and waved in the settling turbulence as the jets in the tank stopped pumping the mako through. She was beautiful in spite of the damage, which looked strangely decorative in this spectral light. He smiled at the sight of a trapped air bubble escape from her open mouth. It slid past her lips and for a moment, caught on the tip of her nose before rising to the top of the tank. He would imagine she was breathing.

He shook his head, well aware that he was letting his fancy take hold of his mind.

That's when he saw it. At first, it was dim, just a flicker that disappeared as a lock of her hair floated up and blocked his view. He pressed closer against the glass, squinting to look into the murky interior. He thought he had imagined it, a glint of light beneath the heavy headpiece. A few seconds passed, and he laughed at himself— at his sudden inclination for fantasy. He pushed away from the glass, ready to carry on the million other things he needed to take care of, but as his head turned, he caught a glimpse of a brilliant red glare out of the corner of his eye.

His smile was spontaneous, the first real one he'd had in months. He stood for a moment, looking straight into those glowing eyes that just a moment earlier had been dulled by clouded corneas. It seemed that there was hope, not madness, for him after all.

He was reluctant to tear himself away from the sight of his triumph, but he needed to seal his treasure away, to protect her until she was strong enough. He went about his tasks with renewed vigor. No longer did he feel sorrow, nor that painful sensation in his chest that he'd felt at the beginning. She had come back to him, and that is all that mattered. He'd find a way to make her whole, to make himself her equal. He'd give her everything he was, everything he was capable of. Everything she'd been denied by the fools who'd driven her to her current wretched state. He'd be sure to make her wishes a reality.

An hour's work later, he closed the last fastener that held a life-size effigy of a steel-winged angel to the front of the containment tank, effectively obscuring the view of its contents. He stepped back, satisfied with the care he had taken to complete all the safeguards necessary to seal her away and protect her from prying eyes.

As he walked out of the chamber and prepared to reprogram the locking mechanism so that only he had access, he heard her voice in his head again— a soft, whispered request that lingered like an echo for a short moment. This time, he was certain it wasn't his imagination.

_I want my son._

"In due time," he whispered back, smiling as he set about entering the new code. He watched through half-lidded eyes as the reinforced door slid closed.

There was no reason to linger anymore. He still had to make his way back to the town and to the manor. He'd never felt such reluctance to part ways with anyone, but here he was again assaulted by a mixture of impatience and distress at leaving her alone.

"For now, rest, and grow strong, my love." his hands came up and pressed flat against the cold-hard metal of the door.

With those parting words, Ilya Hojo walked out of the containment room, past the control room, and out into the cold night in Mount Nibel. He felt buoyed by a renewed sense of purpose, no longer stricken by loss or that sickening twisting jealousy he'd been infected by for months. It was freeing, he thought, to shed the shackles of petty sentiment at last. He had two unfathomable opportunities to change the world, to wake its potential in a way no one had dared dream before.

He opened the passenger-side door of the vehicle that awaited him. As he settled into the seat, he turned to look at the man in the driver's seat. He raised an eyebrow in question when he perceived the questioning look he was receiving.

"What?" Hojo demanded, half annoyed to disrupt his mental catalogue of things to do.

The driver adjusted the Shinra pin on the left lapel of his blue suit. He shrugged, turning to face the front of the vehicle as he shifted into first gear, setting them into motion.

"Nothing," the driver, a Turk, shot him a quick glance off the corner of his eyes. "It's going to take forever to get rid of this stink." He blew out a frustrated breath and slammed his fingers against the power window switch, letting in the cold mountain air as they picked up speed along the dirt road leading back to the village of Nibelheim.

Hojo snickered. It was a foreign sound, even to his own ears. "Really? One would think you'd be used to the sweet smell of progress by now, Veld."

Veld turned his head fully to face the bedraggled scientist. His nose wrinkled in protest of the reek issuing from Hojo like a malodorous aura.

"You could have chucked the coat in the trash, at least, man." he shuddered slightly as the cold breeze ruffled a few shaggy strands of his brown hair against his ear.

"Nonsense," Hojo dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He looked down at the dark stains marring the front of his white coat. "There are Jenova cells all over this. I have to recover them all."

"How come?" Veld asked, not really interested in the answer he was likely to get out of Hojo. The man was inclined to go off on scientific slang riddled monologues at the least prompting. But for now, Veld's mind was troubled by what he'd been a witness to, and he needed the distraction.

Hojo shifted a bit so his back was resting against the door of the vehicle. He gave the Turk an appraising look, trying to gauge what was safe to tell. He licked his lips, feeling his tongue snag on their dry surface.

"Wild-type Jenova cells are aggressively prolific." he said by way of explanation.

"Meaning?" Veld prompted him to continue. His eyes returning their attention to the road ahead.

"Meaning," Hojo sighed, "If even one cell finds its way into any organic tissue, dead or alive, we will have a big problem."

"Hmmm. How so?" Veld asked, now genuinely curious.

"Without the modifications we make in the lab, whatever results from that fusion is too unpredictable, and definitely not under our control."

"So you can't just chuck it in the rubbish bin." Veld nodded, to indicate he understood.

"Right. Hence the predicament we find ourselves in now." Hojo gestured behind them, indicating the mako reactor they'd just left behind.

Veld grunted, reminded of the events over the previous months. His hands tightened their grip over the steering wheel at the memories that came to him. It was a veritable tangle of complications in which loyalties had been tested across the board, including his own. Despite his practical nature, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse at the thought of the man who had placed his misguided trust in him. At one point, they had been friends, but unlike Vincent, Veld had always been a Turk first.

His reverie was interrupted by Hojo clearing his throat.

"Hurry up, will you? I've gotta go and get these clothes to containment." the scientist muttered, shifting his position again to face the front. "And I've got a baby to go take care of," he added, an indecipherable smirk on his lips.

Veld sighed, pressing down on the accelerator as much as he dared in this rough, narrow road. That was another scary development he hadn't given much thought to. What would come from this child, he wondered. A cold sensation settled in his guts.

_Goddess have mercy on us all._

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**_Author's Note: _**Whew! did anyone make it through to the end? I'm a bit rusty with writing fiction, so forgive any awkward phrasing or syntax. I'm posting this un-beta'd, so there's bound to be too many errant commas, etc.

I've been working on this story for a long, long time. I have this massive outline that I'm splitting up into several different stories, and this one, _Incarnatum_, is the main story in that universe. In this, I hope to explore the origins of Jenova, both the ancient calamity pre-game side, and the compilation incarnation thereof.

I also would like to poke a little at Lucrecia's characterization, because despite my absolute desdain for her as a character, the way she was portrayed as a screeching hysteric and overly-dramatic damsel really rubbed me the wrong way. I don't know why. Meh...

Anyway, though it may take a bit of trudging through the storyline, _Incarnatum_ will be ultimately a VincentxTifa story... maybe even more of a Tifa story, as she needs a turn at being savior of Gaia for a bit. The boys can't have all the fun, now, right? But before we get there, the tangled web must be weaved.

I'll also be posting other stories concurrently with this one that all belong in the same universe but don't exactly fit into _Incarnatum'_s story flow. They will fill out the background of this universe and give insight into characters' motivations for the things they do. I've always believed the best villains are those who come by their villainy from their own honest beliefs and needs. The bad guys don't think, "I'm going to commit some evil today, mwahahahaha!" It's more like, "I have to achieve this end, and you're in my way!"

OK. I'll end this here, otherwise, this A.N. will be longer than the prologue. I hate to ask, but I'd really like to hear some feedback from you guys. Am I crazy? am I onto something? Should I bother to continue? Let a pal know, drop me a review! Love ya!


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